


Change in Fate

by Talic



Category: Berserk (Anime & Manga)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-10 00:06:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20518688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talic/pseuds/Talic
Summary: Instead of being left to wander after his forceful departure from Gambino's group a different destiny awaits him.





	1. Different Direction

A boy whose pitch-black hair was reflected from the moonlight stood alone with scraps of clothing to wear while wielding a sword which was larger than what a child his age should be holding dripped blood as it stabbed through a wolves body. There was a vacant expression to be seen on his face, even as the Canyon surface tortured his naked feet and bits of rock prickling akin to that of needles.

The sword was lodged outside the wolf, its corpse dropping to the ground as the rest of the pack which surrounded the boy from above appeared hesitant to approach for still moments. A blissful smile was the only response received from the child as his grip on the weapon tightens until his knuckles were brighter than the rest of his pale body, which was a result of bleeding from a wound he suffered on his way tumbling down a cliff.

All of the wolves charged, their teeth gnashing out with vengeance for losing one of their brothers in the pack. Blood would soon follow from the child as a shout of defiance cried out in the air.

* * *

A rustle from the wind moved a flag which held a symbol of a Falcon with its wings folded as a Helix moved up from the bottom to the mid-part of its body.

The Sigil of the Holy See.

Below was a group of men who gathered together wearing Noble clothes, their horses tied to a nearby tree next as they conversed between one another, most if not all, grumbling about the peasantry of doing patrol duty as members of the Holy Chain Knights; a warrior group of the Holy See ate their freshly cooked venison.

The silent part of the group happened to be the leader of the patrol, his black mustache combined with his furrowed eyebrows gave him an appearance of strict authority if only his height was not so short compared to the rest of his men. His stare however had always put people underneath his command in their place which is one of the many reasons why he was rising in the ranks at a surprising rate.

"Azan! Why must you look so gloom?"

One of the Knights who was starting to become an irritation would force him to give the younger man his attention. His head turned towards him with a pointed look as his dignified voice sounded across the group.

"We are on duty, Knight Reynauld!" Azan's was became intolerant of the behavior being put forth by Reynauld. "You tend to also forget to address me by rank!"

Reynauld's eye twitched in annoyance at the notion of being in submission to the dwarf of a man in front of him. Nonetheless he snorted, sweeping back his unkept auburn hair.

Azan even in his limited time with being alongside Reynauld knew him to be a disaster of a true Knight, rarely did he take care of his own equipment, leaving it to his servants to maintain his armor and weapons while spending his time writing poetry to maidens in court rather than doing his tasks or training, which as a result yielded a poor combat performance. He prayed that this false Knight eventually meets the end of his career soon.

Unfortunately, the Samwell family wanted Reynauld to fully go through his duration as a Holy Iron Chain Knight to further his status in the realm of nobility which ultimately meant that Azan would need to be alongside this cur for a longer time.

His whining further frustrated him

"But this patrol duty should be left to those vagabond mercenaries! Peasants at the very least have eyes to see with."

A new voice chipped in to retort against a son of the Samwell family.

"You petty bastard! The Holy Chain Knights listen to the Holy See no matter the orders, you should have thought of that before lollygagging through the Knighthood ceremony with a quill and paper in both hands!"

Azan looked up to see a brash red-headed man whose hair was kept in a long ponytail. Soon remember that he was unfortunate enough to have two conflicting personalities in his patrol party. Stamar Rocabarth has always been a man of action, confronting problems head-on instead of being restrained.

"Bastard?! How dare thee, Stamar!" Reynauld stood up to meet the height of his rival Lord just to come to a startling realization that the red-headed man was bulkier and still taller. He flinched. "I-I shall defend my noble pride!"

Azan pounded his greave, registering a loud clinging noise that clambered into the air.

"Cease this nonsense to both of you! How would the father above respond to this kind of behavior?!"

The quarreled men stood still as stone when they heard Azan's deathly serious tone, awaiting their orders. Silence became the remaining presence in the air as the trio remained silent until the Knight Captain gave out his order.

"We will need to venture onward, and our delay in this Canyon is becoming a disgrace to the order."

With relief overcoming the Knights senses they put on their helmets and untied their horses while Azan put out the fire. The sounds of galloping would echo across the vast distance of the mountainous region as they continued on their patrol duty.

A trip to the Canyon was uneventful as Azan was the lone member of the group who fully paid attention to his surroundings while both followers were lazily following behind with bouts of bickering that was not enough to warrant his intervention which surprised him due to how unruly both of them would get when faced in each others company.

At least some relief in these travels...

His thoughts were swiped away as the sound of a battle cry could be heard in the distance alongside a cacophony of howls and growls that can put fear into any man nearby. He noted his two fellow Knights already hover their hands above the handle of their weapons, ready to pull it out for any upcoming danger. With a small gesture of his hand Azan would order them to follow behind him as they quickly complied, loyal to their superiors in this time of need.

They rushed through the rough terra to see what the commotion would be, more likely a poor villager wandering in the middle of the night to be picked off by a pack of wolves was what they thought.

What they saw, however, left them visibly shocked.

Surrounded by corpses of wolves which all suffered slashing wounds was a boy who looked to be in his early teens soaked in blood, grasping the handle of his sword for his dear life while appearing dead in his eyes. Azan approached the boy's body, unholstering his staff as his men followed suit. His words came out in disbelief.

"No man can take on a pack of wolves surrounded like this, especially a boy…" Azan bowed his head as a sign of respect. "I pray that he has eternal rest."

Only silence followed suit.

Azan did not need to turn around to take notice of both Knights solemn tone, an unheard agreement between them. The site was familiar to the group as they had been witness to atrocities done to the victims of the attack or disease any time they ventured out from the comforts of their inner circle. It made Azan grit his teeth in anger at the fact that he was never there to stop any villainous actions committed on the victims.

Right after he turned his horse around with a grumble, ready to clear his mind of what he had seen, he heard a shift of movement with the sound of armor clinging against one another, accompanied by a startled shout.

"He's breathing!" Reynauld came to a sudden stop. "Look!"

Seeing that the boy was indeed breathing made Azan hop off his horse, the armor he wore making it a great effort as he sprinted as fast as his smaller legs carried him until he knelt next to the child.

While he was still alive, Azan knew he had to care for the wounds that covered the young man's body before all the blood seeped out of him. Tearing out a piece of cloth from a cloak he wore, temporarily stopping the bleeding that came out of these devastating injuries from bite marks, claws and one particular wound that came from a bolt of a crossbow. He was no surgeon but he has vast experience on the battlefield to know enough about the basic implications of addressing a soldier's injured state.

Moments would pass as Azan was careful not to fumble his hands around the cloth, a visage pf determination present in his stout feature. He cursed as the wind became harsher, nearly losing grip on the piece of cloth he used to wrap around the boy's arm. With the final piece of cloth wrapped on his body he turned to his fellow Knights who kept watch the whole time, not wanting to disturb the actions of their superiors.

"Stopping the bleeding won't be enough." Azan easily picked up the limp child off the rough terrain, being careful not to re-open any wounds. "Knight Stamar, grab the sword."

Doing so without a delay, Stamar would pick up the sword with the handle, its immense size acting as a trial of strength even for his bulky physique. The fact that this young lad managed to keep a firm grasp on the daring weapon made him impressed, to say the least.

"He should be fine, Knight-Captain," Stamar grunted as he tied the sword on the side of his horse with a leather strap.

"I have seen many men die of the disease after their wounds were treated, Knight Stamar." Azan took the time to have the child nestled in his lap, patting his shoulder for a silent reassurance. "We must consult our Priest."

"But sir!" Reynauld chimes in, a panicked expression to be seen. "If we take him to our Temple we may suffer the consequences for staining its grounds with his commoner-"

"Enough! I shall bear the burden if that is what will transpire, will bring him there and that is an order."

Reynauld was about to retort before sharply stopping himself from commenting, content with his superiors responsibility. He would follow after Azan who began to travel onward to the Holy Iron chain Knights headquarters with still an air of unease he wishes would wash away.

Azan returned from where they came from, making the journey swift and without trouble as shortcuts were taken with due caution, keeping the child's state in mind. He was not afraid to take the brunt of punishment in the order if it meant another life was not taken on the road, especially for a child who saw little of the world.

The trip became easier from there as the silence continued to linger in the air. As they emerged from the lower steps of the hill, the group saw their central home of Vritannis with its formidable strong and tall walls that dare any attacks to attempt any sieges against the massive stronghold, still bearing the scars to this very day. Anyone who tried to form an assault through the front gate would be met by its layer of defense to contend with while getting pelted down by arrows and bolts not just from the top of the wall but the holes that were made to be shot from.

Luckily for them, they were part of the Garrison in the port city that allowed passage inside without interference as their armor signified their status even as the guardsman gave Azan weird glances at the boy hoisted on his lap.

Greeted with silence and the deserted streets beside the occasional beggar they continued their venture toward the Temple. The sound of a glass being broken next to Azan startled him, his instincts kicking in as he reached for his weapon just to find it was just a tavern that afterward had shouting come from within.

Reynauld's displeasure was heard.

"Noisy as always! If only these peasants would indulge themselves in more artistic works."

Eventually, the group caught sight of the illustrious grand Mansion that belongs to the Vandimion family who has authority over the Knights alongside the Pope of the Holy See. As they got closer to it on the trail they saw the glimmer of the buildings and the many statues outside that align outside of the main gate reminding Azan of when he heard tales that as they host a ball a bright light is to be seen from miles away outside of the wall even behind thick forests being that they are the richest noble family in Midland. A more important matter for him, however, is that their daughter, who was named Farnese would be the new figurehead of the Holy Chain Knights after the pope himself officially declared it so. He hoped that her presence would bring further accomplishments to the order.

A breath of relief escapes from Azan as he finally sees the Temple of the Holy Iron Chain Knights, a Courtyard in the front where a multitude of training takes place. Noble trainees who would be sparring against each other with dull weapons are asleep. Azan dismisses his brother-at-arms from their duty after getting their horses back in the stables, preparing to face any punishments from what he is about to commit once word spreads of it.

Ignoring the glances he reaches inside the Temple to be introduced with its many candles kept lit by the many servants of the Headquarters and multiple floors to navigate through in all its lavish splendor. He made way for the Priest's quarters, while there were undoubtedly other medical physicians nearby Azan wanted the best to help remove any possible disease that came from the different bites and scratches tarnishing the boy's body.

"Halt right there, Knight-Captain!"

As fate would have it Azan was face to face with the current Vice Commander of the Holy Iron Chain Knights, one of the few veterans of the Order who does fight head-on in battle bearing a scar across the cheek to prove his achievement. His superior scowled down at him, his bushy mustache set in a frown. He did not appear to be tired at all at this time of night.

Word did not seem to spread fast enough.

"Commander Ryis." Azan bowed his head down in respect, forcing him to look at the child he carried bridal. "We have returned from our patrol."

"You did. With a commoner boy in our Temple." Ryis glared at the child's poor clothing and scarred body. "Explain yourself."

"I found this child to be in a grievous state, sir. I figured it would be best to bring him to our Cleric for any diseases."

"And why not other medical physicians in this town, Captain?"

"Because we hold the most gifted healers in the Temple, sir." Azan looked up to meet the Commander's eyes directly. "For the sake of my honor, I want to see that he recovers. I tire of seeing the youth waste away into dust."

Ryis would appear to be deep in thought, his eyes analyzing the boy as moments of silence passed by. Azan kept his breath in, awaiting the response he had prepared well for. Azan knew Commander Ryis had little tolerance for disobedience, his direct authority only sent out strict commands and traditions to closely follow to the Order.

The least he could do was be honest in his face.

Slowly, Ryis nodded his head.

"You serve the Order highly while asking for little." He turned his back on the Knight Captain, his head motioning for the door near them. "I will grant you this."

"Thank you, sir!" Azan made his way to the door after Ryis moved out of the way, his gauntleted hand pulling on the handle as he shuffled inside awkwardly.

The room was comfortable but nothing fancy compared to what the other soldiers preferred, Azan could hear tools being shuffled around as he descended down a set of stairs to the basement until he saw the full appearance of the Cleric with his back turned to him.

Slender fingers expertly handled the vast medical equipment that the Holy Chain Knights is able to afford before the man turned around as he heard the clanking of armor from behind him showing an aged man with gray hair and a small pointed beard on his face. The front of the robe he wore displayed the crossed Chain symbol but colored red to show his position as a Cleric.

"Azan? What is the meaning of this..."

His words stopped abruptly when he saw a boy in the arms of the Captain who quickly spoke before the Cleric continued.

"I managed to stop the bleeding but I am unsure how he would fare against disease-."

Quick as the wind, the doctor took the child from Azan's arms with surprising strength. Azan was left befuddled by the motion.

"Out! I must tend to him post-haste!"

"Marth-"

"Now!"

Adam backed up without a word, not questioning Marth's commitment to his work as he saw him begin to pull out bottles from the many cabinets that surrounded them until eventually, Azan walked out of the room to not be a liability.

Finally, he may rest easy now.

* * *

_Dark shapes shifted around him in a spacious environment, his unconscious state of mind drifting from one thought to another as he felt himself float endlessly, reliving memories both horrid and good._

_Both of his hands were now gripping his mother's tightly as she coughed harshly against the disease with the plague effects shown on her face with its many spots and bumps. Her meek voice called out his name repeatedly with each becoming softer and somber._

_"Guts...Guts...Guts."_

_Sezu. The sole person who cared deeply for him in his life is gone now. He was cold and alone in this void with just a sword which protected him replacing her as a comforting figure as a result of hardships he experienced under the watch of his own father._

_"Damn it, boy! Get up!"_

_Once again he got up, holding up his sword properly with all the willpower he could muster. He charged at his father, preparing to swing down the blade with all his might only to be met with the ground after his blade was deflected._

_He looked up to meet the sneering stare of the Mercenary leader who raised him from birth, panicking when the man's blade sliced the front of his nose horizontally. Right to the bone._

_Guts shouted from searing pain as other mercenaries gathered around him to tend to him, a few scolding Gambino for pushing too far as he grudgingly agreed._

_More shapes began to shift until he found himself sitting on a log after practicing his sword strokes alone in the wilderness where he preferred his isolation. He heard a branch crunch, forcing him to meet Gambino's eyes._

_He tossed him an ointment that was contained in a clam. It felt smooth to touch as he later opened it to apply it on his nose._

_Gambino turned to walk away as Guts muttered thanks under his breath. He simply turned his and raised a brow._

_"Sure, kid."_

_Guts felt his heart sank as all of the good moments of his life, with Gambino beginning to shift until that fateful moment when his face was planted on the ground, mouth forcefully shut by a piece of cloth wrapped around his head as he is defiled from behind by that man that bought him from Gambino. Donovan. He strained against the harsh grip, yelling in pain from the horrid actions of the bigger man behind him until he could feel himself begin to wake from his past._

_His eyes begin to flutter open._


	2. Awakening

Guts felt sweat pour down his body as he begun to survey his surroundings, looking down as he saw fresh bandages wrapped around his wounds and felt an odd substance smeared over the injuries. He also noticed that he was laying on top of a luxurious bed, it’s velvet texture cooling against his skin as its welcoming touch embraced his back. The new experience became welcoming as he never had the privilege to afford such until his dominant cautious side of him sprang into acton, the worst possible scenarios drilled into his head.

The first thing he noticed outside of the bed was bookshelves. Many which surrounded him and all cleaned and pristine in its display to the point to where he could see the letters he could not comprehend, his lack of education only seeing shapes instead. A foul smell that he could even sense from himself made him want to throw up on the stone ground below, his familiarity with the horrors of battle keeping him firm.

In the background a soft humming was heard next to him, craning his head to see a doorway where it originates from. The deep hum was soft but joyous at the same, fitting with the flowery decorations on the walls near it.

He reached out with both arms, flailing to try to grab a hold of the sword he held dear to him only to be left with nothing but air. His breath quickens at the exposed states he was in, boldly moving his entire body only to feel pain bite into him sharply as a disgruntled shout came out of him abruptly, his back collapsing on the bed.

Guts’s heart quickened when the humming ceased only to be replaced by the sounds of footsteps from the door encroaching nearer. He clenched his fists, ready to defend himself from anyone that would take advantage of his vulnerability.

“I still have teeth to use, bastard.”

Opening the door revealed an elderly man in a robe with chains crossing each other colored in red. The elder’s features are wrinkled but soft while still retaining gray hair on his head and face, the mans blue eyes widened as he saw Guts awake on the bed as the younger man stared at him like a cornered animal. Ferocious and unyielding.

The man shifted in his robes uncomfortably before bowing his down slightly, surprising Guts as he had not expected the noble to do such a humble gesture.

“Forgive me if I had startled you, child.” His voice chortled. “I pray that you have recovered well?”

Guts slowly backed himself against the headboard, sitting upright as his face contorts into painful agony. He suppressed the nerves, his words harsh and sharp enough to startle the elder.

“Where is my sword!?” He looked around frantically, the bedsheets above him felt like a vice wrapped in its silks, a presence near him without a weapon at his side forced his mind to retreat back into its nightmarish depths.

Alone and exposed.

The noble held both hands up in surrender, his voice coming out softly as he took a step back almost stumbling.

“Your weapon is safe, I assure you…” He stared at Guts who kept at least one eye on his person. “I have no intention of harming you, what is your name? You may simply call me Marth.”

Guts begins to relax his tense muscles, taking calming breaths as he begun clear his head of any negative thoughts until he eventually responded hesitantly.

“My name… it’s just Guts.” He ignored the confused look Marth gave him used to the reaction his unusual name gave. His hands begin to roam around the sheets gently. “Where am I?”

“The Holy Iron Chain Knights temple.”

Guts widened his eyes at how simply Marth gave out his response which included an infamous name. Stories are told everywhere of the feats of the Holy Chain both ill and valiant with the most common being how substantially wealthy the order is and its backing by the Holy See. It’s no wonder the bed he laid on could afford a farm if sold. Reasons for why he, a peasant is taken here remains a question in his mind.

So focused Guts was on the things around him that he never realized how dry his mouth was, the words that came out sounded like a soft whisper. He saw Marth quickly retreat to through the doorway, telling him that he will return with a fresh cusp of water. Patiently he waited, feeling his chapped lips become a minor nuisance for him.

Marth returned with a silver goblet which contained a fair amount of water that Guts drowned down after harshly taking it out of Marths hand which did not appear to offend him. Afterwards he returned the cup, nodding his thanks.

“Forgive me, young Guts, I should have brought some as soon as I heard your hoarse voice.” He sets the goblet on a nearby counter. “You have been asleep for almost two days.”

“How did I get here, Marth?”

“Knight Captain Azan found you in a state of near death.” He points to one of the wounds. “God must have been merciful upon you.”

Guts only shrugged, he was never the religious type. Anytime he prayed before a fight he gets no response from the Lord above, forcing him to rely on himself in battle like he has always done. What surprised him is that a Knight cared enough to help him instead of leaving him to die like the many others. It would have been reasonable to leave, he would have done it. In his mind Knights were always blood thirsty killers pretending to be the face of glamor and honor.

The door opened again to show a new man entering the room who is incredibly short with a bushy mustache. He wore his armor in good condition and walked forward in a proud stride as if the armor weighed nothing on his form. Marth quickly stood, bowing his head in respect at the superior.

Guts looked in disbelief as he witnessed the shortest man he had ever seen address the Cleric with a firm nod.

“Knight Captain Azan, how do you fare?”

“Well enough as is.” His eyes turned to Guts to be matched with his own stare. “I am relieved to see that he has recovered somewhat.”

“Yes. His constitution is impressive, I thought he would have woken more days ahead.” He tugged the collar of his robe in an embarrassed manner. “Ah, how rude of me, this child introduced himself as Guts.”

“A strange name.” Azan shrugged. “But its what we are born with.”

Irritation rose from within Guts, listening to them speak about him while he was next to him made him bark at the dwarf.

“Where the hell did you put my sword?!”

Azan shifted to Guts, taken aback at the sudden eruption. In his frustration at having received no answer the sheets are savagely pulled off and he forced himself to stand up, gritting his teeth to ignore the pain. His legs did not fail him on the ground as he proceeded to the doorway, ignoring the baffled look on both of their faces.

If he did not want to help him then he may as well be on his way, the Cleric has already done his work.

He reacted violently when a hand went over his shoulder to stop, turning around in his last piece of clothing that still remained on him against a heavily armed man. The cleric peered on nervously as he glanced from between the two, their eyes sparring against each other in a dangerous fencing match.

Azan was indignant, his shouts of outrage ringing in Guts ears as he felt his right leg reopen a wound, forcing him to lean against the wall.

“You stubborn fool!” Marth guided the younger boy who did not resist as his focus was on the new found pain. Azan continued his scolding, the same tone that Marth heard on any uproarious squires. “Aloof like a bull you are!”

Guts ignored the jabbing insults as he was forced to sit back down on the bed.

The room became calmer with the help of Marth as they both explained what happened while he was unconscious as Guts only listened intently. Eventually Marth would leave as he had other people to tend to within the Temple leaving only the dwarf size Knight alone with Guts.

It was quieter than before, Azan awkwardly rotating his gauntlets which was outfitted on his hand. Guts clenched his fists underneath the sheets, more than ready to lash at similar to a cornered beast would when met with no other paths.

“We both have started from the wrong foot. Its good to see you have healed well.”

“Why should it matter to you?” Guts scroffs. “Why would a Knight even be talking to me?”

“Because I hold responsibility over you as I was the one who found you alone surrounded by numerous pack of wolves. All dead by your hand.” He peers closer into Guts. “How could you have done that?”

Guts became still and silent, his vacant gaze staring off into the distance away from the inquisitive eyes of Azan.

“I just survive from now.” His eyes became downcast as he continued on. “After I was forced to flee.”

“What made you flee?”

Guts began to shift uncomfortably at how to answer that question, ever since he had been separated from Gambino and his fellow mercenaries he was left to wander in confusion for a brief moment, he thought that after his confrontation with the wolves he would be left as pieces of himself on the canyon being withered to dust as another dead boy like all the others he had seen in the battles he fought.

But now he was inside of a Temple where all the high prestige members of the land reside, he has never been out of this room yet and still he felt and saw the luxury of being a noble. He felt a swell of anger rise from inside him as he is confronted with the fact that unlike the others here he was born at the bottom of the barrel with its ruthless brutality to face ever since from birth. A Curse.

Knights instead of being mantles of honor that other boys and girls would grow up thinking were instead better equipped and paid mercenaries who look after their own interests. What compelled this noble to save him? What does he do now?

He felt the side of his head throb as anxiety wrapped it coils around him like a chain pulling him deeper into a tidal wave of unfamiliarity but no sword in his hand to answer to that issue.

Words came sputtering out before the patient Knight before he could stop himself.

“Fled from a band I grew up in…” He cursed himself from within, feeling like a widow who is knelt before a priest in confession. “All I knew is how to use my sword.”

“All your life?”

“After I grew.”

Guts turned away from the Knights pity filled eyes, shying away from Azans sympathy as he hid behind a stone exterior. Moments would pass and Guts sees him not moving an inch, looking to be in deep thought.

“Stop looking at me like that!” He clenched his jaw, seething at the Knight when Azan did not shift his gaze one bit.

Azan frowned but nodded once in understanding, standing up from the chair he brought in from the other room.

“I must get back to my duties. Once you fully recover I will personally lead you out, I promise your sword is intact.” 

With the message imprinted in Guts mind Azan left the room, his clanging armor being sounded as he moved. It became dimly lit as his lids slowly closed on its own lulling him back into slumber.


End file.
